Collecting Dust

When one of my friends or relatives has a baby I always think it’s a nice to give the child a U.S. Mint Proof Set from the year he or she was born. I don’t always do it, in fact I rarely do it, but I still think it’s nice. (And if you don’t know what a proof set is go look it up your own damn self. I’m tired of doing your research.)

And each time I buy (or don’t buy) the coins I tell myself, “If only somebody had bought me a proof set the year I was born—then I’d be set for life!” Finally today I got on the Internet to find out exactly how “set for life” I would be if I was indeed still holding a proof set from that magic year of 1953. The answer is, as you’ve already deduced, not very.

Quick, how much do you think a proof set from 53 years ago is worth today? Yeah, I thought so too, but the truth is you can easily pick one up for about $200. Or you can use the same money to take your family for a day at Disneyland. That is, if you don’t let them eat or drink anything once they get inside the gate.

Well maybe a proof set from 1953 wouldn’t have been that bad an investment at the time. Maybe you just had to buy a whole bunch of them. After all, the set back then cost $2.10, so it has increased nearly 100 times in value. If you had bought not one but 5,000 sets you would have spent about $10,000. Today that money would be worth a cool million. Damn! Instead of wasting money on food and clothes and shoes why couldn’t my parents have had the foresight to give me 5000 proof sets? What the hell were they thinking?

The truth is I’ve never had much luck in predicting which item would, as time moved on, explode in value. Years ago I started collecting any copies I could find of the 1965 issue of Playboy that contained the Beatles interview. My hunch that the Beatles legend would only grow with time was dead-on. That particular issue of Playboy, however, can readily be picked up on eBay for about five bucks. And I have four copies. Wah-hooo!

There was an “error” baseball card a few years back. It depicts a smiling Billy Ripken (Cal’s younger and extraordinarily less talented brother) holding a baseball bat on his shoulder. On the knob of the bat somebody had written the words “Fuck Face.” The folks at Fleer had somehow managed to print the card this way and I personally thought that was just about the funniest thing I had ever seen. I bought my first one for $50.

A few days later I was telling our teenage Chinese waiter, a card collector himself, about my purchase and the young punk had the nerve to laugh at me. He said the card was worth nowhere near that much. For my part I thought the kid was an idiot—I couldn’t imagine this hilarious card doing anything but skyrocketing in price. And to prove it I went out and bought seven (7) more. Today, fifteen years later, you can buy as many Billy Ripken Fuck Face cards as you want on eBay. And like the Playboy with the Beatles interview, they’ll cost you about five bucks each.

Years ago I discovered a rather amusing comic book called ‘Mazing Man. It took me three visits to the swap meet but eventually I acquired what I believed to be the entire series of the comic, issues 1-10. And then I put them into storage and waited for the big day that ‘Mazing Man would be discovered. Man, would that be sweet. Well it turns out that I was almost correct in believing that I had collected the entire series. I had purchased the first ten issues and if you check on eBay today you’ll find that there were actually only 12 issues of ‘Mazing Man created, plus three Specials. You’ll also find that you can acquire this entire set and have it delivered to your home…for about $17.

And it’s because I possess such financial acumen that I am at this advanced age forced to grant sexual favors under the local bridge in exchange for money to pay my mortgage. OK, you know that’s just a joke, right? RIGHT? But I wonder if I were about ten years old today and had more foresight than I actually did have at ten, what items would I choose to put away in order to cash in during my golden years? What items would you pick?

There is one fantasy collectible that I would give almost anything to own. I’m fairly sure that not a single one exists but how wonderful would it be if you were able to, by guile and trickery, obtain one? What would be the value of a copy of the children’s book The Pet Goat if it were autographed by George W. Bush?

Priceless.

Guess Who # 11

Yes, everyone, it’s time once again to play Guess Who! “Again?” you whine in that oh-so-annoying way that makes it painfully obvious why your parents always preferred your siblings to you. Oh, you didn’t know about that? Well trust me, everybody else in your family did.

Anyway it’s not because I particularly feel like it’s time for another Guess Who or that my well of brilliant ideas has finally run dry. Hell, I’ve got a stack of post-its in front of me with enough concepts written on them to ensure dozens, even hundreds of future columns that you will most certainly not take the trouble to read.

No, actually the subject of tonight’s game came up in a conversation with a client of mine (I do work once in a while, you know) a few weeks ago, and I decided to learn more about this individual. (The subject, not the client. C’mon, try and keep up.)

And let me warn you, this is not going to be one of the easy Guess Who games you’ve been used to. No more sliding by! Many of you young punks will have never heard of this person and even some of you old farts might have trouble with this one. Ah but those of you who are able to successfully identify tonight’s Mr. X should give yourself a prize: First, because you’ve earned it and second, because I’m certainly not going to.

Let’s begin. And no cheating, and I do mean you.


Mr. X was born in 1902.

Mr. X’s real name was Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry.

Mr. X has been called, with the exception of Reagan, the most controversial movie actor in American history.

Before beginning his movie career Mr. X wrote for a newspaper called The Chicago Defender.

Mr. X claims to have taken his stage name from a racehorse.

Mr. X reached the peak of his career when he starred in several films with Will Rogers.

Mr. X became the first African-American actor to become a millionaire.

Mr. X became part of Cassius Clay’s entourage after showing the legendary boxer a punch that Clay later used in a fight.

Few of Mr. X’s films have been released on video and others have had Mr. X’s scenes edited from them.

The Hollywood chapter of the NAACP awarded Mr. X a Special Image Award in 1976.

Mr. X had one son, named Jemajo

Mr. X’s career ended in 1976 when he suffered a stroke. He died in 1985.


Golly, that's a lot of clues! So who is Mr. X?

Are We Not Men?

First off, let me issue a spoiler alert. I’m going to be talking about a movie I saw today called The Last Kiss and will be revealing some things that happened in the movie. Stick around anyway—they’re only minor plot points and I promise not to give away the sappy ending. Well, I might a little, but so what?

The movie started out promisingly enough, looking at the relationships of a group of young men, and one or two old ones who were, sadly, about my age. As the movie progressed, or more accurately, deteriorated, it focused more on the main relationship: a young man and his pregnant girlfriend. And so shall we.

So this guy gets his girlfriend in what used to be called in a more gentle time “a family way.” That is, he knocked her up. No problem. They’re crazy in love, but don’t want to rush to the altar, especially now because people will think they had to get married. “Nobody will think that,” says the girl’s mom, played by former hot-patootie Blythe Danner. Everybody on the screen, in the audience and possibly in the theatre next door scoffs aloud at this.

OK, so the guy is afraid to admit that he has some reservations about becoming a papa. At about this same time he meets this hot, I mean Hot, little college student who for some indecipherable reason develops a crush on the schlub. One thing leads to three, as it often does and before you can say “What pregnant girlfriend?” our hero is taking the sizzling co-ed to a party, followed by two or three spirited and slurpy rounds of tonsil hockey.

Ah, but when the moment of truth comes and the babe asks him up to her dorm room, and it’s not for a cup of noodles from her hot pot (Do college kids still have hot pots? I suppose not. I guess they all have microwaves now. Ah, well.) our man realizes that he loves his girlfriend, their future baby and their life together. And so he turns down the college chick.

Yes, he turns down the incredibly sexy college chick, which makes him a better man than I. Well, if not better certainly different. But alas back at the ranch the girlfriend has already found out about our boy’s wanderings and when he comes face to face with her she’s transformed into a screaming harpy guaranteed to send any demon from the lowest circles of Hell cowering into the corner. The guy, of course, tries to lie his way out of it, as all men are trained to do from birth, but it’s no go. So he admits that he was with the babe and that he kissed her. But there was no sex, he tells his beloved shrieking psycho-bitch. We just kissed.

Well that’s enough for the girlfriend. She shifts her tantrum into overdrive. She screams. She cries. She slaps him at least once. (She will slap him at least one more time later in the movie. I don’t have the totals here. I wish I had had access to that Compu-Punch like they have for pro fights so I could tell you how many slaps she threw and how many landed. And thus get the percentage of hits, too.)

And then the banshee pulls a kitchen knife. A big, shiny, cut a bison in half with one stroke kitchen knife. And finally our guy takes the hint and heads out the door, as the psycho had been shrieking for him to do for the entire scene.

OK, so he heads back to the dorm and has a great night with the young ‘un. Good for him. And I think that’s about as far along the plot that I’m going to take you. The Last Kiss is not a bad movie, that is not until near the end when it descends into a Lifetime Movie of the Week Chick-o-Rama Fest. It’s not pretty, guys. In fact it was harder to watch than any of the 9/11 films. OK, maybe I’m exaggerating, but not much.

But here’s my point, and you just knew I had to stumble on one sooner or later. OK, the guy is the movie betrayed a trust, and lied to his girlfriend besides. Not admirable, but not the biggest crimes you can find in this vile year of 2006 if you’re paying attention at all. So sure the girlfriend has the right to be hurt and let off a little steam. But she slapped this guy around pretty good. And she pulled a knife on him. SHE PULLED A KNIFE ON HIM!

And I doubt that there was a single woman in the audience who didn’t think she was perfectly justified. After all, this scumbag had committed the worst crime imaginable—he had kissed another woman! Hit him! Stab him! Send him to Abu Ghraib!

It a strange time for we men, fellas. A time when you can walk through the mall and buy a t-shirt for a little girl that says “Boys Stink” or “Boys are Dumb.” How far do you think you would get if you tried to market a shirt for little boys that said stuff like that about girls? Good luck with that one.

And let’s turn our reversal lens on the movie. What if the girl had kissed another guy and her boyfriend had pulled a knife? Holy mackerel, he’d be labeled a psychotic and dragged off in cuffs on attempted murder charges before you chomped on your next mittful of greasy overpriced popcorn. Even if the guy had slapped the wayward woman he would have been labeled an irretrievable villain of the lowest kind.

And rightly so. Ah but the door, like your strange Uncle Kenny, must swing both ways. And now if I told you how the poor guy in the movie had to humiliate himself, to kiss his girlfriend’s ass, to bow down and mortify himself before the sacred altar of Womanhood to atone for his heinous crime in order to earn forgiveness from this magnanimous woman who had slapped him silly and threatened to stab him it would make you sick. At least it would if you’re a guy. You chicks will probably think it’s absolutely justified. And romantic to boot.

Coward

The classic and clichéd definition of a hero, at least from a military point of view, is the man who throws himself on a live grenade and thereby sacrifices himself to save the lives of his buddies. Few would argue that this would indeed be a heroic act.

But what of the soldier who is in the same situation and chooses not to hurl himself on the explosive? Is he a coward? Is the man who chooses not to put his own life at risk by running into a burning building a coward, or just not a hero? Is cowardice simply failing to perform the heroic act; a passive activity? Or does cowardice, like heroism, require an active participation?

Next door, somewhere, sometime, a man stays home with his girlfriend’s two-year-old daughter. The mother, a young, pretty blonde in her twenties, goes to work each day in order to support the small family. The boyfriend does not work, and is responsible for watching the child.

The boyfriend is a low-life and a thug. He is thin with long scraggly hair, is a drug user and seller and he owns a gun. He is of low intelligence, perpetually angry and greets the world with a snarl. People may cross the street to avoid contact with him. And nearly every afternoon at about the same time he beats the two-year-old girl.

A neighbor knows this because he listens to the beating every day. He hears the thug yelling and the little girl screaming. He cannot, of course, see exactly what is happening but over time the neighbor is able to deduce that the child in probably being beaten on the back of her legs with a belt.

The noises are horrible and the neighbor knows something should be done. In his stronger moments he vows to climb up the stairs and knock on the thug’s door. Perhaps he could pretend to borrow something; at least then the beating would stop, if only temporarily.

Or perhaps the neighbor doesn’t need to confront the thug at all. Perhaps he should simply contact the authorities. They certainly would know how to deal with this situation and the neighbor’s involvement would be minimal. But he fears the thug would discover who made the phone call. And the thug is an animal. And the thug has a gun.

And so the neighbor does nothing. And for a short while, perhaps a week or so, the beatings continue. And then they stop. And through local gossip the neighbor learns that someone else who also had heard the beatings called the police. The police then paid a visit to the thug and the beatings ceased. Just like that.

Perhaps knocking on the thug’s door would not have been the equivalent of throwing himself on a hand grenade or running into a burning building, but it would have been the courageous act of a man conquering his own fear to protect a helpless child. It would have been heroic.

And so does the neighbor’s choice to not get involved under these circumstances mean that he was a coward, or simply that he was not a hero? And if he was not a coward, why then would he still be haunted by an event that happened so very long ago?

Hugo Chavez: I Want To Be Your Agent

Hugo, baby, sweetie, we loved you at the U.N. the other day. Boffo stuff, really. Your sulfur line left ‘em rolling in the aisles. I’m still laughing.

Listen, Chavey, we need to talk. You’re wasting your time in your current career. President of Venezuela, who needs that headache? Trust me, bubala, I’ve seen all the greats and your future is in showbiz. There’s a socko career just waiting for you in stand-up, Huey, and all you need is some training and a little polish. And the proper representation, of course.

That’s where I come in. As your manager/agent I’ll be your pilot and guide for your trip to the stars. We’ll start you small in comedy clubs across America, move on to television and then it’s the movies. How does this sound to you: Hugo Chavez—Oscar Winner! Hey it worked for Robin Williams. It worked for Whoopi. It worked for Billy Crystal. (OK, not Billy Crystal, but still.) And it will work for you!

Listen, sweetheart, there’s no need to answer right away. But neither one of us is getting any younger, if you know what I mean. I’ve taken the liberty of writing some material for your next U.N. speech. If you like it have your people call my people. Let’s do lunch.


PRESIDENT HUGO CHAVEZ AT THE U.N.--PART II

Thank you, thank you ladies and gentlemen. It’s great to be back in New York City. I see my friends from Angola sitting right there up front. Angola, what a place. I spent a month there one weekend. But I kid!

I see that all the representatives from the United States are again absent for my speech. I really must learn to not schedule my appearances during American Idol. Last time I was here I recommended a wonderful book by Noam Chomsky. This time I would like to suggest another book for your reading pleasure. It’s a much shorter one called The Pet Goat. In all honesty I haven’t yet read it myself, but it must be a compelling book indeed to have kept Mr. Bush so interested even after being informed that his country was under attack. That must be some goat!

Now I kid President Bush. In fact last time I was here I said that he was the devil. After the show I went looking for him to apologize and I finally found him in the United Nations cafeteria. He had been staring at a carton of orange juice for two hours because it said “Concentrate.”

Now I’m not saying that Mr. Bush is stupid, but he thinks that Taco Bell is the Mexican phone company. And he’s so arrogant he brags that half of his M&M’s have a W on them. In fact Bush is so dumb he thought Fruit Punch was the name of a gay boxer. And he still thinks Tupac Shakur is a Jewish Holiday!

But seriously, I love President Bush, but he is a little vain. I just heard that on Air Force One he always sits in an aisle seat. He doesn’t want his hair to get messed up by sitting near a window. And what other president has TGIF written on all his shoes? That stands for Toes Go In First. But you have to give the president some credit. Yesterday for the first time in his career he changed his mind. And no, I don’t know where they put the diaper!

And we should all be thankful that they don’t allow Bush to take coffee breaks. It would take too long to re-train him! And we all know that for years Bush only listened to radio during the day, because he didn’t think you could play AM at night! Did you know that Bush just had to return his new scarf? He said it was too tight!

Thank you! Thank you, everyone! I’ll be here again next year. Please tip your waitresses—they work hard. Thank you!

Two More Funny Lines

A few days after writing the article about “Two Funny Lines” I recalled another one. In case you somehow missed it the article told about two verbal lines that I had heard delivered many years ago by people in my life. The lines were so clever and so unique that they had stayed with me all these years.

Then I thought of a third line that I had heard about fifteen years ago, one that was actually directed at me. And so I was going to title this entry “A Third Funny Line.” That is, until I heard a funny line just today. This new line doesn’t really fit into the category of the other three. It’s not something I happened to hear an acquaintance or stranger say right in front of me. No, this line has been broadcast all over the world, but it’s a great one, it made me laugh and so I feel compelled to include it. Besides, it’s my website—I make the rules.

Line #3
March, 1991
Nairobi, Kenya

I had only been in Africa a few days and had yet to grow comfortable in my new surroundings, my surroundings at this particular moment being an outdoor café in downtown Nairobi. I hadn’t become comfortable with the heat and diesel fumes, I hadn’t become comfortable with the Third-World condition of the place and I most certainly hadn’t become comfortable with the feeling that I was the only white man within a thousand miles.

Still, as I sat at the table eating my lunch I tried to maintain the cool façade of the experienced world traveler. This was not an easy task as not only had I never been to Africa before, I hadn’t even been outside of the United States, barring a few side trips to Canada and Mexico--America’s suburbs.

As I sat at the table eating my lunch and trying to look casual I noticed a group of about four or five professionally-dressed Kenyan women sitting at a nearby table. It was obvious that they were on their lunch break, and they chatted away merrily, although not in English but in Swahili. I glanced at them periodically and once or twice I noticed that one or two would glance back.

At this point I was about halfway through with my lunch and feeling quite self-congratulatory. “Look at me!” I thought to myself. “I’ve traveled all the way to Africa by myself and I’m sitting here dining among an eatery full of native Kenyans as if I did this every day of my life. Why, I’m as much a part of this group as if I’d been born here!”

I had pretty much convinced myself that, no matter what fears I might be suppressing inside, anyone looking at me would see a white man sitting confidently and cool as a cucumber. My body language and facial expression betrayed nothing. Or so I thought. And then one of the women from the nearby table looked over at me and with a big smile loudly declared, “Don’t worry. We’re not going to eat you!”

Line #4
September 20, 2006
New York City

Today the president of Venezuela Hugo Chavez spoke before the United Nations. His speech came one day after our own doomed president lectured the same international body. In his speech Chavez said that Bush is the devil. He also said that Bush spoke as if he were the owner of the world, that he is a spokesman of imperialism and that the United States would be better served wasting less natural resources rather than looking for oil through war with Iraq.

All of which, of course, are true. Well, except for maybe that part about Bush being the devil. After all he may well be a devil, but he’s certainly not the devil. Doesn’t have the intellect for it.

This was an entertaining speech, you’ll agree, but where is the funny line? After all calling Bush the devil eight times in one short speech did manage to generate applause from some of the audience members, but where were the laughs? I’ll tell you.

First off, without being too critical of Mr. Chavez, I’d like to humbly suggest that next time he should hire a comedy writer to at least give his speech a quick once over. You always want to end on the strong word. Or perhaps he did, and things got jumbled a bit in the translation. Still, this was good stuff.

Chavez was addressing the U.N. General assembly when he said, “Yesterday, the devil came here. Right here. Right here. And it smells of sulfur still today, this table that I am now standing in front of.”

SIDE NOTE TO MR. CHAVEZ: Great set, Hugo, but it would have worked better like this: “Yesterday the devil came here, right where I am standing now. And let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, this table that I’m standing in front of still smells of sulfur!”

Give me a call before your next speech, Mr. Chavez. I’d be happy to tighten it up a bit.

A Curious Cartoon Canine Quiz

Did you enjoy the quiz about cartoon ducks that I did a few weeks back? How about the cartoon cats one? Of course you didn’t. Who would? Well, that’s one good thing about me—I never take a hint. And so tonight I continue this inane series and present our newest cartoon animals quiz. That’s right, tonight you’ll be testing your knowledge of popular dogs from the comics or animation. So c’mon, forget the world’s troubles, unclench for a few minutes and have some fun!

1. Which canine cartoon mutt spelled his last name D-A-W-G?
a. Danger Dawg
b. Deputy Dawg
c. Hot Dawg
d. D.W. Dawg

2. Which is generally true about Disney’s Goofy and Pluto?
a. Goofy could talk but Pluto could not
b. Pluto could talk but Goofy could not
c. Both Goofy and Pluto could talk
d. Neither Goofy nor Pluto could talk.

3. Who was Scooby-Doo’s nephew?
a. Dippity Doo
b. Voodoo Doo
c. Scrappy Doo
d. Doobie Doo

4. Which song would Huckleberry Hound most likely be singing?
a. This Old Man
b. Oh My Darling, Clementine
c. How Much is That Doggie In The Window?
d. It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp

5. Which dog is most likely to come to the rescue of Yakky Doodle Duck?
a. Killer
b. Crusher
c. Grinder
d. Chopper

6. What was Doggie Daddy’s son’s name?
a. Muttley
b. Rowlf
c. Augie
d. Griswald

7. Who is Superboy’s dog?
a. Streaky
b. Comet
c. Krypto
d. Lana Lang

8. What did Charles M. Schulz originally want to call Snoopy?
a. Droopy
b. Sniffy
c. Scratchy
d. Snotty

9. Although also known as Droopy Poodle, what type of dog was Droopy Dog?
a. Basset Hound
b. Beagle
c. Bloodhound
d. St. Bernard

10. What actor provided the voice of Underdog?
a. Arnold Stang
b. Woody Allen
c. Don Knotts
d. Wally Cox


THE ANSWERS, AND QUICKLY BECAUSE IT’S LATE AND THE WHITE PILL AND THE RED WINE ARE GANGING UP ON ME….

1. Deputy Dawg
2. Goofy could, Pluto couldn’t
3. Scrappy Doo
4. Oh My Darling, Clementine
5. Chopper
6. Augie
7. Krypto
8. Sniffy
9. Basset Hound
10. Wally Cox

I Hated The Bourbon Barrel

Despite appearances to the contrary, I often do a little research before I begin one of these insightful missives. Tonight I took the trouble to search the Internet to see if The Bourbon Barrel could somehow still be in existence. I’m happy to report that apparently it isn’t.

You would have loved the Bourbon Barrel. It was a homey kind of bar that my friends and I would go to during that short period of time between getting our driver’s licenses and splitting for college. Yes, you would have loved it. I hated it.

Well, hate is an ugly word. But instead of softening my rhetoric let me describe the place to you. The Bourbon Barrel was indeed a local bar, although in what Long Island city it was located I’ve long forgotten and ceased to care. What made the Bourbon Barrel unique was that on weekends it provided “entertainment,” and I’m laying heavy on those quotation marks.

If I remember correctly, and there is no reason to assume that I do, there were usually two or three performers on the makeshift stage, possibly a guitarist and a banjo player. Oh, and did I mention that all the songs were sing-alongs? And they were real old-timey cornball crap like “Daisy, Daisy” and “Has Anybody Seen My Gal?” Listen I’m not one to disparage the music of any generation but who at the age of eighteen, in the middle of Rock’s greatest era when the Who and Janis and the Doors strode the Earth, wanted to listen to that swill? Not me.

And if you’re a regular reader you must have realized by now that I’m not big on sing-alongs or any other humiliating public displays that somehow pass for fun among others. I’m more the “sit alone in a dark room late at night and write bitter essays” type, in case you hadn’t noticed. You want me to sit in a beer hall filled with drunken people singing, “I’m Looking Over A Four Leaf Clover”? I’d rather be water-boarded.

Oh, and speaking of which, and I ask you to remember I was an eighteen year old rebel during the Nixon administration at this time, there was a real patriotic mood at the Bourbon Barrel. At one point during the night the performers would bring out the flag that had been leaning against the wall and, as they unfurled it, begin to sing, “God Bless America.” Soon the entire audience was standing on wobbly drunken legs and joining in, while my stomach knotted into a tight little monkey fist of anger. So apparently my staunch anti-patriotism stand pre-dates both of the Bush fiascos and could in fact possibly be a genetic mutation; and a positive one at that.

And once again remembering the times, the Bourbon Barrel was also a place where my parents and their friends liked to frequent. Now it was almost inconceivable to a teenager of that era that the two parties on either side of the generation gap could possibly enjoy the same entertainment. Why, that would be as if my dad had come into room smoking a joint and asked to borrow my Led Zeppelin IV album. There were certain lines back then that could not and should not be crossed.

And yet I must confess that I went to the Bourbon Barrel on more than several occasions. I hated the songs, I hated the patriotism and I hated the alcohol-fueled wholesomeness. So why go? There were two reasons: First, for some reason that I’ll have to ask him one of these days, my best friend liked it. He even sang along with the tunes. And two, well chicks, what did you think? There were chicks there--young, drunken chicks.

In closing, since I pride myself in being at least as fair and balanced as Fox News, I’m obligated to mention that there was one thing that I enjoyed about the Bourbon Barrel, and that was the big barrel itself. You see it was filled with peanuts. Free peanuts. Peanuts you could eat all night long, and then drop the discarded shells right on the floor! That was wild stuff for a kid who grew up in a spic ‘n’ span and sparkly Long Island suburb where the lawns were edged, the leaves were raked and the snow was shoveled. . Yeah, I really liked those peanuts.

It's A Straight Flush, Dammit!

Sure, Friday’s entry about cats was a tad cranky and sad to say, despite a weekend that included fine dining, a good movie, sexual activities of varying degrees of depravity and the continued deterioration of the doomed Bush Administration, I still feel cranky. So let’s begin.

Here’s what’s bugging me tonight. Do you like watching poker on TV? I do. Not for long stretches mind you. After all, we are living in the era of the diminutive attention span, and I am nothing if not a modern man. But I’ll catch a few minutes of the poker tournaments now and again.

Invariably at some point the announcers on these tournaments will list the rankings of poker hands for the benefit of those who are either under ten years of age or have been living in an underground bunker for most of their lives. And keep in mind it is not just the TV poker folks who are guilty of the foul practice that I am about to describe, but pretty much everyone who ever lists the rankings of poker hands, whether on TV or in print or to your face.

The listings always go something like this:

High Card
One Pair
Two Pair
Three of a Kind
Straight
Flush
Full House
Four of A Kind
Straight Flush
Royal Flush

Does that seem about right to you? Yeah, me too. Except for one nit-picky little thing. The Royal Flush should not be there. “What!” you exclaim in that annoying way of yours that has throughout your life kept you from obtaining high-paying jobs and beautiful women. “But a Royal Flush beats everything!”

And yes it does indeed, my simple-minded little friend, so stop your whining. But remember, the Royal Flush is simply a Straight Flush—the highest one. It’s the best hand you can get, but why does it need to be listed as something apart from the Straight Flush category? If you followed this logic, where the best hand in each category is listed separately, then any published poker hand rankings should look like this:

High Card
Ace High
One Pair
Two Aces
Two Pair
Aces and Kings
Three of a Kind
Three Aces
Straight
Ace-High straight
Flush
Ace High Flush
Full House
Aces over Kings
Four of A Kind
Four Aces
Straight Flush
Royal Flush

And that doesn’t make much sense at all, does it? OK, that’s all I have to say. I figured since I’ve already solved the Iraq and Global Warming problems I’d turn my attention to this crisis. Thanks for listening.

I told you I was cranky.

A Gift From Kitty

You know why you’re a dope? Because you actually believe that your cat loves you so much and is so appreciative of all you do that he will bring you a gift in order to demonstrate that love in the only way he knows how.

Yeah, yesterday just outside the sliding door I found a delightful surprise: a half eaten mouse left for me by one of the 5,000 cats that currently infest the house next door. “Isn’t that just precious?” I thought, and went to get the shovel and bury the vile thing in the yard.

But it did get me thinking. People are always saying that cats bring their owners presents but the concept always seemed unlikely to me. After all, cats have a brain the size of a bean and in fact are quite stupid. Perhaps even stupider than horses, if that’s possible. So how could something so dumb wrap its teeny brain around such a high concept as gift giving? It’s simply not a practice that can be readily grasped by the lower animal forms such as cats, sheep or Texans.

And so since expiring minds want to know I once again plunged headfirst into the Internet to get my answer. I found it in a book called Catwatching by famed zoologist and author Desmond Morris. In it Mr. Morris explains that cats do indeed bring dead mice or birds for their owners, and that this behaviour (He’s British) is most common in female cats that have been spayed. These cats are simply following their programmed instinct to bring food to their young and not trying to express their gratitude because you maxed out your credit card on vet bills last month.

Ah, but once again my research will fall on deaf ears. Or deaf eyes, I suppose. The facts mean nothing to you. You’ll simply go on with your life believing that your darling little bean-brain brings you gifts because he wuvs his mommy so very, very much and in fact the only reason he doesn’t wrap your present and put a bow on it is because he hasn’t yet developed thumbs.

And that’s why you’re a dope.

Seen Any Good Movies Lately?

So I get some free time in the afternoon and somehow wind up at the movie theater. I check the times and it turns out the only movie starting soon is Talladega Nights. It was then that I heard the voice in my head say, “You know, I’d rather go home and do laundry than sit through that.” And that’s what I did.

So that’s how bad the end of the summer movie dregs have become. But fear not, for we are about to emerge into the wonderful world of the fall movie season. In fact in my opinion it has already officially begun with the release of Hollywoodland. But until we get into the full swing of this year’s autumnal cinematic bumper crop, here’s what’s out there now:


CRANK
I don’t much like action movies. I’m still pissed at Bruce Willis for choosing this path when his career was young and I’m sure my disapproval upsets him terribly as he lies around his pool sipping $500 bottles of wine with two or more topless babes. But as I always say, a good movie is a good movie, regardless of the genre. So I was surprised to find myself enjoying this action film. And it’s not hard to figure out why. First, there was a catchy concept and second the filmmakers were wise enough to include a lot of humor.

It seems the villain has injected the hero with this drug that apparently you can only find in the movies. It makes his heart gradually slow down until he dies. Why didn’t the villain just kill him outright when he had the chance? Because nobody goes to movies that last only seven minutes. Anyway, the hero discovers that he can keep himself alive by tapping into his natural supply of adrenaline. How? By racing cars, getting into fights and robbing stores, that’s how. And when these ideas run out he decides to make love to his girlfriend right smack-dab in the middle of a crowded Chinatown! Now that would certainly get the old ticker merrily pumping away, eh what? What can I tell you—the movie was fun. GRADE: B

IDLEWILD
I saw this one today by default. There was no other movie out there that interested me and this was Rated R because it had nudity. So it was either seeing a documentary about the electric car or a gaggle of dancing naked ladies. Tough call.

I almost couldn’t recommend this one. It’s kind of overlong and a little disjointed. But there was so much in it that was fresh and creative I just had to give it the go-ahead. I mean when is the last time you saw a gangster/musical/period piece that took place in the 1930’s and included rap music, a talking flask and a musical number where the background singers were a wall full of cuckoo clocks? Yeah, I didn’t think so. GRADE: B

BOYNTON BEACH CLUB
You know those actors you always liked but haven’t seen in a while? Well, they’re not dead. They’re just old and in this movie. Brenda Vaccaro, Dyan Cannon, Joseph Bologna, Sally Kellerman—they’re all here, they’re all circling 70 and they’re all delightful in this movie. And as I’ve already mentioned on these pages, Sally Kellerman at the age of 68 does a nude scene. No, she’s not the naked Kellerman of MASH or Serial but to be fair if you have to look at a naked 68-year-old you could do a lot worse. This is a funny, warm movie about the dating scene in the AARP generation. GRADE: B

BEERFEST
I bet the guys who came up with the idea for this movie had a blast sitting around thinking up jokes. While they were drinking beer, of course. A Beer Olympics, what could be funnier? As it turns out, almost anything. Not that there aren’t some laughs in this sloppy comedy. (The portrayal of the Germans was fairly amusing.) It’s just that you had to wait such a long time between them. I felt like I was repeatedly waiting on the restroom line at a crowded beer bar. But seriously, what did you expect from a movie about beer that comes out in the summer—The Seventh Seal?
GRADE: C

HOLLYWOODLAND
This is less the story of actor George “Superman” Reeves and more about the fictional detective who tried to solve the mystery of his violent death. Was it murder or was it suicide? Who knows? Not you, not me and not this movie. Hey, if you want simplistic, pre-formed answers to everything go to church. This multi-layered and intricate movie has a great story about how the tragic death of one man can lead to the redemption of another, a point that was apparently wasted on some of the dimmer movie reviewers out there. Plus there’s a lot of cool Superman stuff too. GRADE: B+

So what have you seen?

Two Funny Lines

Plato once said that a man should accomplish four things in his lifetime. Or maybe it was Socrates. Anyway it was one of those brainy Greek poofs. These four things are to father a son, build a house, write a book and plant a tree. And now, with the greatest of respect for these long-dead eggheads, I would like to humbly recommend that one additional item be added to the list: Everyone should, during the course of their lifetime, deliver out loud one memorable funny line.

Oh relax, I’m not getting ready to blab about my own legendary verbal output here. Christ, I’ve come up with thousands of them; lines that people who are young today will be recalling long after I’m gone. And why do I believe this? Because I’m delusional, that’s why.

The other day I was recalling two separate instances when a person, a stranger actually, came up with a line that was so unexpected and so creative that, although each occurred over a decade ago, I remember them to this day. They weren’t jokes, and they weren’t particularly laugh-out-loud funny. They were simply clever and unique, and with that all-important tip of the hat to the dark side.

Chances are you will not find these lines hilarious. Perhaps they’re both classic cases of “You had to be there.” I just know that when they happened they received from me the greatest compliment that I can bestow on a spoken line: I wished I had said it.

Line #1
Circa 1985
Blackjack table, Las Vegas, Nevada

I was seated at a blackjack table. A few seats down was a young man (I guess I was a young man too, at the time. How about that?) whose growing stack of chips indicated that he was doing very well. Standing behind him, leaning on his shoulder and discussing every move he made was a young girl who appeared to be his girlfriend. She was an attractive girl with long brown hair and a winning smile that she used frequently and to great effect.

To those of us at the table she was not irritating in the least, but rather appeared to be thoroughly enjoying herself. The good cheer was infectious. Her boyfriend, also in high spirits, listened to her as she commented on the turn of each new card. At one point their heads were nearly touching as the girl said something about the latest successful hand. Suddenly the guy picked up a chip, turned to his girlfriend and said, “I’ll give you ten dollars if you go brush your teeth.”


Line #2
Circa 1997
Apartment Party, Fremont, California

I had gone to watch a friend play in a team handball tournament and struck up a conversation with a woman who was standing next to me on the sidelines. This was not just any woman, but a full-bodied German fraulein dressed in what can only be described as a modern version of lederhosen--lederhosen that I hoped would soon be forming a crumpled pile on the floor of my bedroom. We ended up going out on three dates, and although I never got close to my fantasy the experience did leave me with a memorable line that still can bring a smile to my face.

Our third date was a party at the apartment of one of her friends. (The first two dates were box seats for her first-ever baseball game and a Neil Young concert. Hell, I should treat my wife this well!) As the party progressed it became apparent that about half of the people there were German while the other half were significant others acquired in America, such as me. I soon noticed that the Germans, including my fraulein, had gravitated to a corner of the room, while the rest of us were sitting around the living room table feeling abandoned and a little left out of things.

And so we bonded. As the night wore on we refugees at the table began to form a tight little group. No longer feeling alone and out of place I suddenly realized I was actually having fun. I even began to flirt with one of my fellow tablemates!

From over in the corner the deep guttural tones of five or six people loudly speaking German could no longer be ignored. None of us at the table, of course, knew what was being said. At this point we didn’t even believe that they were talking about us, our abandonment having been so absolute and complete. Finally one of the girls at the table looked over at the group and yelled loudly and with the perfect inflection of innocence, “Hey, are you guys talking about war?”

A Letter To Howard Stern

Dear Howard,

Today, the fifth anniversary of the attacks of 9/11, you replayed your radio show from that miserable day. Before the airing you repeatedly reminded your listeners that the decision to air the tape was largely based on the many requests you had received. It is understandable that you would hesitate to re-air the program out of respect for those who died on that day, but I think there is another reason for your indecision. After hearing the show today I think there is more than a small part of you who is embarrassed by your shameful performance on that day.

For five years we’ve been told what a wonderful job you did, remaining on-air even as the planes were striking the buildings. And even though I had listened to your show on that morning five years ago, I too had become convinced that for those few hours you had tossed aside your jester’s cap and become a serious and professional broadcast journalist. When I heard the show today, five years on, I realized the idea of your having become an objective reporter was nothing short of completely absurd.

A year later your producer continued to kiss your ass by telling you that he had never been prouder of you than on 9/11. He said your performance had been “remarkable.” What was truly remarkable was that you were one of the few people on Earth to be in New York City in front of a live microphone when the historic events were taking place. And although you were not strictly an eye-witness, your show that morning will probably be archived and remembered along with other broadcast tragedies such as the crash of the Hindenburg. The main difference, of course, is that you did not spend much of your airtime bemoaning “the humanity.” You were more concerned about blood and revenge.

You called for the dropping of atomic bombs throughout the Middle East. You and Robin fanned the flames of hatred by declaring the U.S. shouldn’t ask questions first, just start throwing bombs. You were emphatic that the Arab world had to learn that we were “the boss” and that they were “our dogs.” And after this region of the world was bombed flat we would be free to take their oil.

Of course, unlike the rest of us, you had the disadvantage of having your initial reaction to the tragedy broadcast to millions of people. But still over a year later you were still spewing your hate talk. You couldn’t wait for the attack on Iraq to begin, although I doubt that you can now recall why. Why, you even wore a general’s uniform to work on the day the war began. And now three years later over ten innocent Iraqis are dead for every person who died on 9/11. And you haven’t been seen in that general’s uniform lately.

To your credit you finally decided to educate yourself a bit. If I remember correctly your epiphany came when you took the trouble to read a book by Al Franken. Practically overnight you, with crystal-clear 20-20 hindsight, were against the Iraq War. And just as abruptly now so was every member of your crew, a coincidence that I still regard as nothing short of amazing.

So we must give you credit for searching out the facts of a situation and then changing your opinion accordingly. After all, isn’t that one of the main criticisms continually being leveled at our doomed president; that he is inflexible in face of overwhelming facts? And yet you must not be allowed to be forgiven so easily, for along with your broadcasting success comes a responsibility. And even though, like all the other chicken-hawks in this country, you personally did nothing more violent than scream for revenge and play dress-up in your soldier suit there is still blood on your hands. And it doesn’t wash off so easily.

Howard you are a wildly successful and incredibly funny man. I listen to nearly your entire show nearly every day. But you are not a serious journalist. Can you imagine Walter Cronkite or Dan Rather reporting on the events of 9/11 and demanding the immediate nuclear annihilation of the Middle East? It’s time to stop congratulating yourself. You were not brilliant or heroic on that fateful morning five years ago…you were just there.

Your fan,

Len

Abbot and Costello Meet Bits and Pieces

Have you noticed you don’t hear people talk much about string beans anymore? (Jesus, is it my imagination or am I sounding more like Andy Rooney every day?) They seem to refer to them more these days as green beans. I recently read, and lord knows I don’t remember or much care where, that the reason for this transformation is that the string bean originally got its name for that stringy-thing that used to run along the side of the pod. It seems this string has now been bred out of the plant and thus the name change. Of course green bean is also the generic name for any kind of bean, so this renaming, which goes from a specific to a more general appellation, seems to me to be a step in the wrong direction. There, now you have something else to worry about.

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Is anybody else a little stunned that you can now buy frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Oh, I know we’re getting lazier as a society and frankly I’m the last one who should be putting down advances that make our fat-assed lives easier, but frozen PB&J’s? I mean, hasn’t the peanut butter and jelly sandwich always been the go-to choice of comestible when you’re too lazy or too stoned to make anything else? And now even that is too much trouble? At this point I guess we all know where we’re heading as a society, but that’s OK as long as they have cable TV once we get there.

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Public Service: I just want to let you salad munchers (And no, that is not a slang term for some twisted sexual deviation still illegal in the Red States.) out there know that Marie’s makes a Blue Cheese Vinaigrette that is simply wonderful (I almost typed “to die for,” which is an expression that I absolutely hate. In fact when I hear somebody use it I want to punch him right in the face. I think I might have some anger issues.) There’s another blue cheese vinaigrette out there, but it’s not nearly as good. Too vinegary. You’re welcome.

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In his fifty-plus years of hosting telethons for Muscular Dystrophy Jerry Lewis has raised a total of over one billion dollars. This is roughly the same amount of money that the U.S. government spends on the war in Iraq each week.

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I bought twenty guppies today for my turtle, Ellsworth. Yes, of course I got them so he’d have some friends to swim with. At least that’s what I tell any little kid who happens to visit. (Oh, you just said, “Poor guppies,” didn’t you? Well listen, it was your God who came up with this vicious system, not me. Have another hamburger, hypocrite.) Anyway I just wanted to let you know that the guppy is named after Robert John Lechmere Guppy. My research tells me that Guppy (the man, not the fish) discovered the fish in Trinidad in 1866, although it was already known to German aquarists before that time. Which begs the question, how the hell did Guppy “discover” a fish that was already known to the Germans? Not to mention the thousands of people of Trinidad who at one time or another must have stuck their heads underwater.

Death: The Quiz!

There’s a great scene in the great movie Unforgiven where this little punk who had pretended to be a hardened killer actually does kill a man in a gunfight. (Or he sees a man get killed. I forget which. Whatever.) Anyway, he’s pretty shaken by the incident, and as he sits talking about what happened he looks up at ol’ Clint and says, “Well, I guess he had it coming.” To which our squinty-eyed hero slowly replied, “We all have it coming, kid.”

And we do! We all have it coming and, unlike all the other animals around us, we all know it. And we can make up stories of a paradise in the sky or fountains of youth or scientific breakthroughs that will make us immortal but deep inside we all know it’s just a cover, don’t we? The truth is we’re all doomed. Doomed! Yes, that includes you, and you and even you. And possibly even me.

Ah, but you’re reading this now and I’m writing it so that means we’re alive. So what do you say, let’s celebrate and enjoy life while we can. And what better way than by taking one of my famous quizzes! And what better subject for the quiz than that annoying old bugaboo, Death itself! So have a good time with this little quiz and don’t take it too seriously. After all, it probably won’t be the last one you ever take. But it might be.


1. About how many people died worldwide in 2002?
a. 12 Million
b. 26 Million
c. 57 Million
d. None. It was a very strange year.

2. There have been two documented cases (1975 & 2003) of people dying from this.
a. Attack by spirits.
b. Laughing.
c. Housecat attack.
d. Choking on a pretzel.

3. According to Wikipedia.com, most drownings occur in what?
a. Water
b. Snow
c. Industrial liquids
d. Alcohol

4. What is the #1 behavioral cause of death?
a. Firearms
b. Motor Vehicles
c. Tobacco
d. Sexual Practices.

5. What is the number one cause of accidental death?
a. Fires
b. Surgical Complications
c. Motor vehicle accidents
d. Falling

6. Which statement about suicide is true?
a. Sweden has the highest suicide rate in the world.
b. Men attempt suicide more often than women.
c. Suicide is more common during the winter.
d. Most suicides in the U.S. are by firearms.

7. What is exsanguination?
a. Death from total blood loss
b. High altitude death
c. Frightened to death
d. Death by banishment to the wilderness

8. In 2004 90% of the world’s state sponsored executions occurred where?
a. Iran
b. China
c. United States
d. Texas

9. Which country has the highest (1995) motor vehicle death rate?
a. Italy
b. United States
c. Portugal
d. Guam

10. Which increased by 1200% as a cause of death from 1979 to 1998?
a. Hypertension
b. Homicide
c. Diabetes
d. Alzheimer’s Disease


Well that was a cheery way to pass a few minutes, eh what? OK, Gloomy Gus, let’s see how you did.


ANSWERS:

1. 57 MILLION of your fellow humans left us in 2002. And yet the lines at Safeway don’t seem any shorter, do they?
2. LAUGHING. The phrase for this amusing exit is called Fatal Hilarity, and was first recorded in 1596.
3. Did you actually pick anything besides WATER? You’re such a dope.
4. TOBACCO. Haven’t you noticed that doctors now ask you if you smoke even before they ask you your name? (Of course, the name of your insurance company still comes first.)
5. MOTOR VEHICLE ACCIDENTS. By far.
6. About 55% of suicides in the U.S. are accomplished with FIREARMS. Sweden actually has an average suicide rate while most suicides occur in the Spring and Summer. And while more women attempt suicide men succeed more often. Just like we do in everything else.
7. DEATH BY TOTAL LOSS OF BLOOD. And you should have gotten this one. Sanguine? Sangria? C’mon, pay attention here. By the way, it’s how animals are killed in the meat industry. I just read a lovely description of it but I don’t want to write about it and you sure don’t want to read about it. Trust me.
8. CHINA. And they have now switched from firing squad to lethal injections. You probably think they’re being humane; I think they’re preserving organs.
9. PORTUGAL. Why? Who knows? I know I’ve driven in Greece and Italy, so if Portugal is worse than that I don’t want to know about it.
10. ALZHEIMER’S DISEASE. And when you realize that Septicemia (blood poisoning) had the second largest increase with 91% that 1200% number is quite dramatic. But not so much so that I’m going to take the time to find out the cause. Look it up yourself.

"Yesterday, When I Was Young"

I’ve always loved this song, even when I actually was young. The only version I’ve ever heard was the hit recorded by country legend Roy Clark back in 1969. It has been recorded by many other people and, with no disrespect to the talented Mr. Clark, I suspect it would have become a hit song no matter who sang it.

The flaw with Clark’s version was when he sang it he actually was a young man, and so a spoken preamble was added to the beginning in which Clark explains that because of certain life choices he now feels old before his time. This, of course, is complete bullshit and completely misses the point of this song, which tells of an old and bitter man looking back at his lost youth.

Years ago I remember hearing Roy Clark say that he had met the man who wrote the song, who told him that Clark had sung it exactly as he had envisioned when he wrote it. Tonight I remembered that story and realized that I still had no idea who wrote the sad and beautiful song, Yesterday, When I was Young.

Ah, but that’s why God gave us the Internet. The first fact that I discovered was that the man’s name is Charles Aznavour. I was also thrilled to find out that he didn’t die some lonely bitter death forty years ago, as the lyrics to his song imply, but that he is today, at 82, still alive and working!

Charles Aznavour has written over 1,000 songs and is known as “The Frank Sinatra of France,” although I’m not sure that the Chairman of the Board wrote a thousand songs. Or even three. In his spare time Aznavour has also starred in over 75 movies. He was born in France, makes most of his movies there and is a legend in France and in other French-speaking parts of the world, although he has starred in several American movies.

A quick look down the list tells me that he was in the film And Then There Were None, which I do remember seeing at the local theater as a small boy. Which was, of course, yesterday when I was young.

Stingray Shows No Remorse: "I'd Do It Again."

It’s tragic when a young man dies. Hell, it’s tragic when an old man dies. It’s also quite common to make jokes when someone, especially someone famous, dies in an unusual way. So let’s begin.

Just kidding. The first time I saw Steve Irwin he was running across a patch of Australian desert chasing down one of the most poisonous snakes in the world. For me he was an immediate turn-off.

Why? Because for many of us nature is a place of calm; a place for peace and solitude. It requires a hushed reverence much like you’d exhibit in a library or a church. No loud talking. No radios. And here was this maniac stomping around, throwing his body to the ground and yelling, “Crikey!” as he lifted yet another captured and panicked creature for the camera. He appeared less like a conservationist and more like a strung-out meth freak crashing your Aunt Fanny's tea party.

“Bite him!” I yelled every time I watched this fool needlessly capture and stress out another defenseless (or apparently not so defenseless!) animal. Oh I suspect Irwin’s heart was in the right place (don’t say it…) but there also had to be a boatload of ego and machismo at work here too. Why didn’t he simply, and quietly, find and photograph these animals? Why did he always have to risk his life by capturing them? Sure sometimes animals were taken as part of a legitimate relocation program, but what has that got to do with dangling a baby over a crocodile?

The best Steve Irwin satire I’ve ever seen was on South Park. In it an Irwin-like character would sneak up on unsuspecting animals in order to put his thumb up their ass. Why would he want to do this? Exactly! That was Irwin in a nutshell. Just like the true-life maniac this character was harassing the animals for no good reason.

Steve Irwin did not deserve to die. He leaves behind a grieving family and millions of adoring fans. Yet you can’t help thinking that the animals of the world are sleeping a little easier tonight, knowing that tomorrow they are once again free to crawl, slither, hop or swim from Point A to Point B without having this loud, egomaniacal madman leap on them from out of nowhere. Steve Irwin and the Australian Outback—may they now both find peace.

My Weekend With Howard and Jerry

I had been a fan of Jerry Seinfeld before he began his landmark TV show. I liked his stand-up. Even before he became a household name I thought he was funny. Yet it wasn’t until about three or four years into the series when they aired a Seinfeld compilation show that I realized that this was a very special program. And it was only a short time later that I revised my opinion upward and recognized the show for what it was: the greatest sitcom in TV history.

But alas, despite the title, this article does not concern itself with Jerry Seinfeld, but with two other funnymen who kept me laughing throughout this Labor Day weekend. One is old: one is not so old. Both are legends.

A few months ago Howard Stern regained the tapes of his radio programs that ran for twenty years on K-Rock in New York City. He doesn’t discuss the details, but it is commonly acknowledged that it cost either Stern or his new company Sirius a chunk of change to settle the lawsuit with his former employer. By his own estimation he received about 23,000 hours of his old programs. And this Labor Day he finally decided what to do with this treasure trove.

I’ve listened to Stern’s show for about fifteen years. Which may seem surprising on the surface, since I don’t particular like scatological humor. I think fart jokes, dick jokes, etc. are too easy and for the most part not funny. And there lies the misconception about Howard Stern.

Stern has been on the radio five days a week, five hours a day for about twenty-five years. Do people really believe that he’s been sitting in front of the microphone all that time chanting, “Fart, fart, fart, fart…” ?

And yet, though I listen to Stern nearly every day for as long as I can, I didn’t really appreciate his true genius until this weekend. For three days they played his most popular bits from 1985-2005 and I realized that the body of work, like the Seinfeld show, when taken as a whole (and wouldn’t Howard just jump on that line?) is nothing short of brilliant.

My brother tried to interest me in Howard Stern when I visited him in New York many years ago. I listened for a few minutes and scrunched up my face. “Don’t you think he’s funny?” my brother asked incredulously.

Well of course I didn’t. I wasn’t yet in the club. I hadn’t yet entered the Stern universe. I didn’t know Underdog Lady or Elephant Boy or Gary the Retard or Crackhead Bob or any of the other scores of characters that Howard has pulled the strings for like some leering and demented puppeteer. I hadn’t yet heard any of the great musical artists who appeared on the show, from Stevie Wonder to the Bee Gees to Train to Paul McCartney. And I hadn’t heard the interviews.

Swallow this: Howard Stern is the highest paid entertainer in history. Does this make him the greatest entertainer in history? Of course not. But it does say quite a bit about his ability to draw and hold an audience. Howard has four more years to go until his current Sirius contract expires. If he decides to leave radio, which doesn’t seem likely, he will be missed. But in reality he doesn’t have to spend one more day on the air to cement his place in entertainment history. Quite an accomplishment, you’d agree, for a guy who doesn’t do anything except make fart jokes.

Around 8:00 on Sunday night I left Howard. After all this was Labor Day and so, as I had since I was a very young lad, I switched on the TV for the Jerry Lewis Telethon. And there he was, conducting an orchestra on the strip in Las Vegas. The first thing he did was wave his arms and the baton, accompanied by a slide whistle sound effect, flew out of his hands. And there was that classic look of comic confusion on Jerry’s face. And I laughed out loud.

The man looks amazing. If you’ve seen his telethons over the past few years you know that Lewis had gained a tremendous amount of weight due to his medications. Three or four years ago I watched the bloated comic, clearly in pain and struggling to breath, as he wheezed his way through the long telethon. I made a bet the next day with a friend: I was convinced that this would be his last Labor Day show.

New before was I so happy to be wrong. When Lewis, now 80, took the stage last night I couldn’t believe my eyes. He trotted out, OK perhaps not trotted but walked energetically, onto the stage. He received the key to the city from the mayor of Las Vegas and pretended to snap the case closed on his fingers. And I laughed out loud again.

No, I didn’t stay up all night watching the telethon. Are you insane? But I did see enough of it to know that I was witnessing a remarkable performance and an amazing physical comeback besides. Here was an octogenarian Jerry Lewis laughing, singing and wisecracking almost as if the passage of time hadn’t affected him at all. It was a joyful thing to see.

Lewis’s performance was made even more amazing when you factor in that he suffered a heart attack less than three months ago. But damn, I always fall for this. It was magical to see glimpses of the comic genius of Jerry Lewis tonight, but there is no denying that he is an old man. How many more telethons will he host? Two? Three? And then in five years or ten or even fifteen he will pass on. We all do. And for some reason I’ll be surprised. “But he looked so good on the 2006 telethon!” I’ll angrily protest to the void.

The Oscar people missed a golden opportunity earlier this year. In March Jerry Lewis turned 80 years old. This was the time for the honorary Academy Award. Instead Lewis spent his milestone birthday in France, receiving an honor from the French. But it’s not too late.

Let’s appreciate Jerry Lewis for his tireless charitable work. Let’s appreciate Jerry Lewis for his glorious and nearly unequalled movie and entertainment career. Let’s thank Jerry for making us laugh for sixty years. Let’s give Jerry Lewis an Oscar in 2007.